


Chapters Together

by blackchaps



Series: Yellow [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Felines, M/M, Schmoop, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-02-08 11:25:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: Assorted one shots of John and Harold's life together, not sequential, some really ridiculous, and others just odd. Each chapter stands alone as a 'story.' Each one is set in my Yellow universe with Felines. These will make more sense if you've read Skin and Bones, but no pressure, heh.





	1. Carter

***

“Meeting her for coffee seems like an unnecessary risk.”

“It’s not like she can sniff me out. I pass for Human,” John drawled.

“Usually,” Harold drawled right back at him. “She’s particularly acute in her reasoning skills.”

John couldn’t argue that. “Military-trained interrogator.” He respected her for several things but perhaps that most of all. “Has she worked with Felines in the past?” He sipped his coffee, enjoying the clicking of the keyboard as Harold dug into the question. It was ridiculous that he liked watching him work.

“There is one Feline in the Army, and while he has done a tour in Iraq, I have no proof their paths ever crossed.” Harold turned to him, full body like he did. “There are moments when you look utterly Feline. Avoid them.”

Surprised, John let out a chuff, which he turned into a cough. Harold’s eyebrows went up. John shrugged. “I’ll be on my guard.”

“That is all I ask.” Harold went back to his computers, mouth set. “She is never to be underestimated.”

Unable to help himself, John quickly rose and dipped to his knees, putting his head in Harold’s lap. He heard the sniff of annoyance, but a light hand rested in his hair without hesitation. “It’s time to meet with her, Harold.”

“I know. We’ve spoken a number of times, and to all appearances, she’s ready.” Harold’s voice was fond. “Forgive me for being overly paranoid.”

“It’s part of why I like you.” John got to his feet, resting his hand on Harold’s shoulder for a bare moment. “You’ll be listening?”

“Always.” Harold didn’t get up, and John patted Bear on his way out.

The coffee shop was in John’s territory. He’d picked it for that reason, and he’d seen her in there once or twice so she’d feel more at ease. Doubts assailed him, and he almost turned to leave. If he did this, she’d have power, and that power could get John killed. Of course, he expected it at some point, but he was in no rush to get there.

Timing was crucial, so he waited to pounce. “Morning, Detective,”

She was good enough not to flinch, but she looked a bit annoyed. “Mr. Suit?”

He lifted one corner of his mouth. “John is fine.” He’d refreshed the super glue on his fingers this morning, just in case she came back for prints on the table. “My associate says you’re ready to work with us.”

“He’s persuasive.” She tilted her head. “I know those cheekbones.” Her eyes widened. “The blind, homeless vet.”

“He gave me a job, a purpose.” John didn’t like how this was going. She was in more control than he’d like.

Carter leaned forward. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the Center for Feline Control?” Her voice was a bare whisper that tore through him.

“John, get out of there. Now,” Harold snapped in John’s ear.

Taking a breath wasn’t easy. John could smell her, even over the bacon grease. She didn’t smell angry, but his next words were critical to his survival. “They’ll kill me,” he said in a quiet voice, forcing the words from his mouth. “They don’t care that I served my country with distinction. The uniforms I wore. The people I helped. They’ll strap me to a table and shove a needle in my arm.”

“John,” Harold whispered.

She let the words sit between them, sipping her coffee. “I wager you’d take a couple of them with you.”

He grinned, letting his teeth show. “Good bet.”

“That Feline boy we were hunting?” Her voice was low, steady, but she had steel in it.

“He’s safe with family.” John managed to drink some coffee. “Will you help us?”

“I won’t break the law. I’m a cop.” She said the words sharp and hard. “Don’t expect me to change.”

“We just want you to give us a hand from time to time. Help people who need it.” John took the cell phone out of an inner coat pocket and slid it to her. “We’ll call.”

She caught him by the hand, making him go completely still. “Don’t wear the blue contact lenses. A bit of the orange shines through, if a person is paying attention.” She hesitated. “And John? Eat something. I can hear your stomach from over here.”

Harold chuckled in John’s ear as she left the booth like a queen. She’d defeated him, won the day, and she’d help them on her terms, not theirs. John ordered a big breakfast to go with enough sausage that he wouldn’t mind sharing with Bear.

“Her moral compass is pointed the right direction,” John said. “And you’ll monitor her calls? Just in case?”

“Of course, John.”

***


	2. Lion John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the right choice is the hardest.

***

John paced back and forth in front of the board, not even listening to Harold. There were always choices. At least, now there was. Before, he hadn’t had any say in his future, or present, but now he could decide. Except that he was having a hard time doing it.

Bear whined, and John went to get him a treat. The crunching was a good sound, and Bear smelled happy.

“John?”

“I can’t decide!” John might’ve yelled because Harold actually took a small step back. “Felines die! They chop us up for parts! Make rugs out of us! Grind our bones to put in their potions!” He couldn’t stop yelling, and he felt like an idiot, but he had to let it out. “They kill kits, for God’s sake! If we’re lucky, we get a bullet!”

Harold sat down in his chair, eyes round. “I know.” He never raised his voice.

“You don’t. Not really.” John went back to pacing. “You’re a good Human. I’ve known about three of them. I’m not sure I can count Fusco.” He whipped around to glare at the board. “If we do this, take the risk, it’ll solve nothing. Nothing!”

“That Feline will live another day.” Harold’s voice was calm. “Your choice.”

John wanted to roar at the sky. He paced over to him and knelt, pushing his head into Harold’s lap. “We could die, for nothing.”

“We might.” Harold would never make him, and John growled because there’d never been any question about the decision he’d make. A gentle hand stroked his hair. Calming down took a few minutes, but John breathed in the smell of Harold and let the anger work its way out. He grumbled as he got to his feet.

“Sorry I yelled.” John had never done that around Harold before, just in case it scared him.

“You have cause.” Harold got to his feet and limped to the board. “Honestly, I hadn’t realized that Felines have their own category of social security numbers.”

“We get them at the Center,” John growled. “This Feline is old. She may not want to leave. She may like her owner.”

“The Machine is very certain she’ll be murdered rather soon.” Harold tapped the picture. “Thirty is hardly old.”

“It is for a Feline. I’m ancient.” John couldn’t stop from lifting his lip off his teeth. “You know he’ll just buy a new one.”

“Maybe not.” Harold turned to look him in the eye. “Not if I ruin him.”

“Oh, Harold, you know how to make a Feline smile.” John yanked his chair over and sat down. “Let’s make a plan.” He put his hand on Harold’s knee. “Thanks for giving me a choice.”

Harold smiled. “I hired you, but now, I like to think, we’re partners in this operation.”

John was a little ashamed that he made sure Harold wasn’t lying, but it was a revelation. He could’ve chosen his own welfare, and Harold would’ve backed him. “If I said no, what would you have done?”

“Tried something else.” Harold shrugged. “I respect your choices.”

Understanding, John nodded. “Thanks, but I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“Unless it’ll get you killed. Then you will,” Harold said with a real growl. He lifted his hand in a stop motion. “Don’t bother arguing.”

Raising his eyebrows, John decided not to argue, but he’d make plans. “Admit it, you just want to show me off.”

“You caught me,” Harold said in a voice as dry as dust.

“Hey, I’m very handsome in my fur, in case you hadn’t noticed.” John pretended to be offended. “People wish they had a Feline like me.”

Harold rolled his eyes. “They haven’t tripped over your chewed-up bones!”

As if agreeing with Harold, Bear chose that moment to drop a bone in Harold’s lap. After a second, they shared a laugh. “Bear agrees with me.”

John flashed his teeth. “He loves my bones.”

“As do I, but let’s call Detective Carter in on this one. It’ll be easier to create an identity from scratch than pretend Harold Crane has any interest in owning a Feline.” Harold didn’t seem to notice that John was blushing. “That’ll leave Fusco and myself for pickup.”

“Unless she doesn’t want to leave him.” John was firm on that point. He was relieved to see Harold’s nod. “And I’m picking out my own collar.”

“Coordinate with the jewelry that I’ll be purchasing for Detective Carter.” Harold already had four screens open. “Do you want to call her, or shall I?”

“I’ll call.” John left him there, going to his room. This wasn’t going to be fun by any stretch, but he had to make an effort to save her.

It was after midnight when their limo pulled up to the club. Their number was inside with her owner, who also owned the club. He was a big shot. John wanted to kill him. Carter waited for their driver, Fusco, to open the door.

“Ready, John?”

He grumbled, but he was ready. Her smile kept him from biting the upholstery. He stepped out to audible gasps. Carter reeked of money and class, and John kept his head very high. 

Chuffing, John would’ve laughed if he’d been in his skin. Carter looked like a million bucks, which was about how much Harold had spent dressing her. They’d both seemed to enjoy it. John’s collar, flashing with diamonds and rubies, was worth a half a million, and he might set it on fire when the night was over.

People raised their phones to snap a picture, and he obliged them by letting out a roar. Carter put her hand on his head. “Don’t make them piss their pants.”

This was the exact scenario that had worried Harold so much that John had very reluctantly allowed his mane to be dyed and then adorned with all the latest styles for a Feline. It’d taken a lot of talking to convince him to let Harold shave the mane from his underbelly, but he’d been right that it was very distinctive. He looked ridiculous, but Carter’s eyes had lit up, and she’d pronounced him ‘adorable.’ Only his affection for her had saved her from a swat. When he Switched, his hair would return to normal, and that thought kept him from growling.

John smelled her the instant they stepped into the club. The bouncer had rushed to let them inside, nearly pushing others down. The collar made him want to bite anyone who stepped in their way, and he couldn’t even bear to look at the leash. Carter was smart enough not to pull on it, and Harold whispered in John’s ear, “You look magnificent, and Detective Carter looks nice as well.”

The Feline smelled tired, not scared. John couldn’t see her, but the people were packed in this club like sardines. Finally, the people parted, and Carter took a seat in the back where the wealthy sat to enjoy the club without being crushed. Her hand rested on his mane, and he sat next to her, daring anyone to come close.

“The tableau you two present wouldn’t be out of place in Roman days.” Harold was hacked into the night club’s security cameras, of course. “Who would dare ask her for a dance?”

That question was quickly answered as a tall, handsome man made his way to them – a tiger on his leash. The female tiger dragged her paws, just a bit, and she smelled like she’d gone her last mile. The man reeked of too much aftershave and desperation sweat. Her collar was nowhere near as expensive as John’s. His suit was bespoke, but not the quality that Harold wore, and John wondered where all this fellow’s money went, probably up his nose.

John flicked his tail in a slow pattern, and the instant he was close enough, he stood up over her and licked the top of her head.

“Ah, that’s so cute,” Carter said.

“Your lion is incredible!” the man said, taking a seat. He didn’t have much sense of personal space, but Carter had him in hand so John continued grooming her, glad when she dropped to the floor. The man kicked at her. “Mine is old! Weak! Sell me your lion.”

Carter laughed. “You couldn’t afford his collar, much less him.”

“Whatever you want for him. I’ll get it for you. I’m rich.” The man had clearly lost his mind, scooting closer to her. “I have connections.”

John bit her leash in half without even trying. Carter smiled. “I think my Feline has found a friend.”

He glared at John and made a sharp gesture. Bodyguards appeared from the shadows. “Get the lion.” He grinned at Carter, grabbing her by the arm. “You’re in my club, my rules. Pretty doesn’t go far here.”

“Good thing I know how to punch then.” Carter surged up, the fire alarm went off, and John watched her punch him across the mouth. A shot was fired, sending the crowd to running even faster, and John covered the tiger. Carter was handling it, but John would’ve never left her if he hadn’t seen Fusco come in a side door. That was his signal, and he practically dragged his tiger friend towards the back exit. She seemed stunned at first, and then began running with him.

People got the hell out of their way, even the two security guards fled when faced with John’s teeth. They dashed into the back, up three flights of stairs, through two doors, and out on a roof. A quick jump and they were on another roof top. From there, they went down a fire escape, and into a conveniently parked limousine.

Harold shut the door for them and went around to drive. He took one look back. “There are clothes.”

John Switched and took her too-tight collar off. “You okay?” She gave him a lick on the hand and Switched. John brushed her long, brown hair off her face. “If you love him, we’ll take you back.”

“No, please.” She shook her head. “I’ve been trying to get him to shoot me for days. He finally snapped this morning, saying that he was finished with me, and I’d be dead soon.”

It was hard to get air into his lungs. John trembled all over, pulling her into an embrace. He’d nearly left her to die, and he was ashamed. She tucked her head into his shoulder. “Will your owner hide me?” she asked in a breathless voice.

“I’ll hide you,” John promised. His eyes met Harold’s in the rearview mirror. “Carter? Fusco?”

“Fine. They had no trouble finding their way to safety. And the lady’s so-called owner none the wiser of what just occurred.”

“He’ll track me down,” she whispered.

“There’s no record of him ever owning a Feline, and the financial turn he’s about to that is going to occupy much of his time.” Harold sounded very satisfied. “In addition, the fire marshal will be writing him a large ticket very soon.”

John nudged her back enough to help her get dressed, and then he remembered to take off his collar. It was a horrible thing, and he tossed it up front. Maybe Harold could get a refund. He dressed quickly, pulling a blanket over her. “We’ll eat, and then we’ll get you to a safe place.”

“No such thing for Felines.” She burrowed into the blanket, and John held her close. Long before they reached the airfield, she dropped off to sleep.

“Harold,” John said softly, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Let me handle him. You get her to Montana.” Harold’s voice was firm. “My private plane is fueled, ready for take-off, and dinner will be served as soon as you two are on board. There’s a shower and a bed for her. Sheriff Holt will be waiting in Bozeman.”

“I know the plan, Harold,” John growled. “When I get back…”

“There will be other numbers to occupy your time. People to save, to help.” Harold stopped at the light and turned to look at him. “That’s what you do, and you’re very good at it.”

“I’m also good at crunching necks,” John grumbled, but he stopped trying. Harold was winning this one, and he was right.

When the limo pulled up to the private plane, Harold got the door for them, a proper chauffeur, and John scooped his tiger friend up to carry her on board. Harold slipped a phone and wallet in John’s coat pocket. “I’ll be with you.”

“Don’t forget to feed Bear.”

“Don’t forget to come home.”

John would never do that. Wherever Harold was, that was John’s home.

They flew on, and she slept, ate, and slept again. John paced and watched her. When the plane landed, John had to wake her up. He had worried about the crew at first, but he’d texted Harold to find out that they were highly paid for their discretion. He still kept his face averted and made sure no one could see her until they were on the tarmac.

It was sunny, warm, and the sky went on forever. He took a deep breath, enjoying the new smells. A police car pulled up close, and a big Feline unfolded from it. “Harold’s John?”

“That’s me, plus one.” John got her in the back seat, making sure she knew she was safe, before confronting him. “You’ll help her?”

“We owe you one.” Holt’s eyes were sharp, and he was big. He’d be a tough fight, whether fists or fur. “Trust us?”

“No, but Harold says we’re doing this.” John wanted to go with them, but he also needed to get back. He handed Holt the phone. “Keep us in the loop. She needs a doctor first. Harold also wants to buy her a house, or something. He’ll text.”

“Not my first rodeo.” But Holt took the phone. “Come for a hunt some time.”

“If I can lure Harold from his computers.” John’s lion wanted that. “And thank you.”

Holt nodded, and they were gone quick enough. John’d done the right thing, but it’d been close. The wind whipped past him, and he went back to the plane. Harold had stood up to that big Feline. John thought he should never underestimate Harold, who always had a thing or two to teach John along the way.

***


	3. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Spring.

***

Harold nearly covered his ears as John roared loud enough to be heard on the street. Bear ran through the room, knocked into the table, and sent Harold’s tea crashing to the floor. Barking and roaring masked any cursing that Harold was doing as he cleaned it up. At least the tea had missed his laptop.

John galloped around the corner and nearly took Harold to the floor. Harold sighed. “Spring has had an unforeseen effect on you.”

Grumbling, John hit Harold with his tail, probably intentionally. Harold finished cleaning up the mess before going to his computer. Before the Library was brought to its knees, Harold started making arrangements.

A crash from the hallway sent Bear running back to Harold, and he caught him by the collar. A firm command to stay put Bear in his bed, and that left just John to deal with before Harold lost his mind. As if thinking his name had conjured him, John came around the corner and barreled down the stairs, making bookshelves shudder in his wake.

The sound of something being destroyed wafted up the stairs, and Harold rubbed his face before sending the last email. Done, he made sure he had his extra phone before leashing Bear. The situation wasn’t ideal, but it’d have to do. Bear and Harold locked up before heading to the loading dock that held their Range Rover. The tinted windows allowed no one a view inside. First, Harold got Bear settled in the passenger seat, and then he stocked the car with clothes and steaks, tossing in an oversized bully bone at the last moment.

“John! Let’s go for a drive!” Harold shouted, knowing John would hear. He held open the passenger door, and it wasn’t long before John made an appearance. John roared, of course, and then commandeered the entire back seat. Harold, careful of John’s big tail, shut the door. He estimated a three-hour drive, and he hoped John didn’t chew the leather upholstery to bits before they got there. A big head shoved in between the seats, and Harold gave him a small pat before opening the garage door.

Three and a half hours later, Harold needed ear plugs and a pain pill. When he finally reached the estate gates, he sighed with pure relief. He keyed in the code and drove quickly to the main house. John was grumbling and growling, head practically spinning. Harold eased out, gasped in pain, and got the back door for him.

John slunk out, belly on the ground.

“I own this five-acre estate. It is bounded by a lake on one side and a National Forest on the other three. No one can see you unless you swim some distance. Now, I am going inside to have tea and read a book. You, go play,” he said firmly. “Now.”

During the course of the recitation, John rose off the ground. His brow was furrowed. Then he shook all over, mane flying, and ran off into the bushes. Bear whined. Harold took him inside, along with the supplies. The house was clean, and he put things away before settling in with his tea and a pain pill. Bear found a spot to sleep, and Harold smiled. Finally, some peace and quiet.

The door burst open, and John marched over to plunk his head in Harold’s lap. Harold bit back a laugh. “Oh, John.”

And he roared.

***


	4. Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominic does the one thing that John can't abide.

***

They were amateurs. Oh, they were experts at selling drugs, but killing? They knew nothing, and John was going to teach them their mistake.

Waiting until dark was hard, and he could hear them, laughing. He could also hear Harold, trying to be brave, hurting so much. They’d thought they could make him stop by snatching Harold off the street. Harold never should’ve been in the field. That was John’s fault, but the rest of it was on them.

They were a small crew, trying to a make a name for themselves and expand their territory. The number had been in the way, and John had saved her first. Harold would’ve wanted that. Fusco had helped on that end, and now it was time to put a stop to the Brotherhood.

“What next, Dominic?” The question in the warehouse seemed almost to echo, so easy to hear from his position.

“We wait. He’ll be here, and after he’s dead, we go back to business as usual.” Dominic was confident, but he was wrong. “You two take that back door. Shoot anything that moves.”

John smiled, and anyone watching would’ve been very worried for their future. He chose his weapon carefully and killed them, no knee shots this time. The silencer did its job, and he pulled them out of sight. By his count, there were eight more men, none of them teenagers. Older men, experienced; they’d done time. Dominic was smart. He’d have gone far, if he hadn’t touched Harold.

“Where is he?”

“Go check the lookouts,” Dominic said.

Getting there first was easy, and John broke the dealer’s neck because he could. Again, John dragged him further into the building. Dimly, he heard the sound of a fist, and he growled.

“Don’t kill him. We may need him.” The one talking was pacing. “Dominic, I don’t like this.”

“Get the car. We’ll move to a different location.”

Now, John had to hurry. He ran and ducked, barely able to slide into the back seat without being seen. Another shot to the head, and he stuffed him in the passenger seat before driving the SUV inside the warehouse. He parked close enough to Harold to almost touch, protecting him from the gunfire to come. Harold was bruised, beaten, glasses gone, unconscious, and John’s rage took a step up.

“What the hell?”

John let his gun do the talking, careful not to shoot Dominic. Dominic shot the tires out of the SVU, but he was saving his ammo. He smelled cautious, waiting like a good hunter does, and John strolled around the back of the SVU. “You know what your mistake was, Dominic?”

Dominic’s eyes were wide, but his gun was steady. He was ready, and he’d start shooting soon. “Not killing him?”

“Touching him. That made me angry. I’m not nice when I’m angry.” John took two steps right into the line of fire, not worried. “You’re smart. What’s your next move?”

“You’re about out of ammo. I’m just getting started.” Dominic grinned, and John saw a fellow predator. “I’ll miss these guys, but there’s always more to take their place. No one gets out alive.”

“That includes you.” John saw the minute muscle pull and dropped, Switching instantly and roaring up. The bullet went over his head, and he heard, “John!” right as he slammed into him.  


Dominic was quick; John would give him that, adjusting the gun to fire again. The bullet tore through John’s shoulder, but the pain of it didn’t stop him from ripping his throat out.

Life drained out of him, and John waited to make sure before Switching. He went to Harold instantly. Harold’s eyes were unfocused, but he was conscious. “John?”

“I’m here.” John flicked open his knife and cut him loose. “Let’s get you home.”

Harold couldn’t walk without help, and John couldn’t quite pick him up, so they staggered out of the warehouse together. “Is he dead?”

“Yes,” John growled. He’d never lie about that. He could still taste Dominic’s blood, and he turned his head to spit. “You knew I’d come, right?”

“I knew you’d kill them all,” Harold whispered.

John got him in the waiting car. He found a blanket to put over him in case of shock and drove carefully away from the warehouse, making sure they couldn’t be identified on street cams. The medical safe house was the only option, and he called Dr. Tillman, who promised to meet them there.

The explosion in the rearview mirror didn’t even make John flinch. The car belonged to one of Harold’s companies, which was good news because John didn’t have the energy to clean it and ditch it. He parked inside the garage, taking a deep breath before going around to help Harold.

Harold had said nothing the entire drive, but he’d smelled awake. “I can manage,” he whispered, but he clearly couldn’t. He didn’t smell angry, but John was suddenly scared. He’d killed them all, without remorse. Harold had known it would happen, and he hated that sort of violence.

Dr. Tillman came through the garage door, and John snarled before he realized it was her. She didn’t slow down, tucking her shoulder under Harold’s armpit. “Get inside before you bleed to death,” she said.

The urge to run, hide, was strong, but he heard Harold’s weak voice. “Help him first.”

“I’m the doctor.” She glared at John like she knew what he was thinking, and he slunk inside at her heels, wanting to help Harold but unable. He did a quick perimeter check, forcing her to take care of Harold.

“I just need rest. He was shot,” Harold said.

“I can tell from the blood everywhere.” Tillman sighed. “John, get in here!”

With a sigh, John made sure the curtains were pulled and then went to the living room where the gurneys and equipment was set up, just in case. It’d been a plan for John, not Harold. She glared at him until he gave in, following her instructions. “I’m sorry, Harold.”

“Stop it, John,” Harold muttered. “I don’t have the strength to go on one of your guilt trips.”

Tillman snorted. “This is stuck,” she said, right as she ripped John’s shirt off. “Do not Switch.”

He nodded, but he had to hold onto his skin from the pain. “I have to get Bear.”

Tillman was getting out the saline solution, and Harold had his eyes closed. John sighed. He’d leave as soon as he was patched up.

“Bear’s at the first safe house. Have Fusco pick him up.” Harold should’ve been asleep, but he was still tracking. “I’m certain I have a concussion.”

“I’m certain as well,” Tillman said. “John, please relax the muscles in your arm. I’m putting in an IV and then cooking you a steak.”

“I should Switch.” John didn’t want an IV.

“John.” Harold defeated John’s will to run away with one word. Tillman worked efficiently, going back and forth until they were clean, bandaged, and made comfortable. Harold fell asleep with an ice pack on his head.

“Dr. Tillman?”

“I’ll wake him in two hours. Some of it is pure exhaustion. Nothing broken. Bruises, contusions, mild concussion, and he aggravated his hip. His neck is as good as expected. Tomorrow, he’ll need a strong painkiller just to sit up.”

“Black eye, bloody lip, and rope burns,” John finished the list for her. He should’ve killed them slower. “I’m fine.”

“You were shot.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m calling my wife and cooking you some meat. Stay put.”

John grunted, but he wasn’t leaving. He called Fusco, listened to the complaints, and was reassured that Bear would be collected and taken home. After that, he tried to get comfortable and listen to Harold breathe. Harold was okay. He was. It’d been close, but he was going to heal. John took a deep breath. Harold would be fine.

“Sorry, Harold,” John whispered. “My mistake cost you.” He’d do better, try harder.

***

Harold was hard put not to smile when John flailed awake and rolled off the gurney, growling at the world while wrapped in a sheet. The IV snapped out, and John yowled. Smiling was out of the question for a few days until Harold’s face healed.

“He often Switches at night without realizing it,” Harold said to Dr. Tillman, who looked a trifle stunned. “Give him a minute.”

“Let’s get a pain pill in you.” She bustled about, helping him, and if he were honest, he needed it. His body was furious at its treatment at the hands of the Brotherhood. “Pain level?”

“A number higher than ten.” Harold hurt everywhere. He doubted he could even dress himself.

John grumbled and tore the sheet in half, emerging with it draped on his head. He yawned and then flopped over. Harold loved Lion John so very much. Dr. Tillman rolled her eyes. “He shouldn’t have Switched.”

“A few steaks will help him heal.” Harold groaned as he used the bed to help him sit up a bit more. “I need tea.”

“Coming right up.” She smiled though. “I took the day off. My wife will be by later to pick me up.”

“Thank you, dear. Your usual donation?”

“Please.” She left him to go to the kitchen, and he turned enough to see if John was still sleeping. He was, but from the snoring he’d be awake soon. John had killed them all. Harold knew it in his heart, even if he hadn’t seen it. There’d been no way to stop him.

Elias would be grateful, even in their debt again. John felt guilty, as he’d done it without considering alternatives. He seemed to lose his mind when Harold was in danger. Harold sighed, but it was fond. John would need physical reassurance that Harold wouldn’t abandon him, so it was time to get his aching body moving.

Dr. Tillman helped, but he wasn’t up to a shower. Just putting on clothes seemed like a victory, and when he emerged from the back a lion was pacing in the living room. There was a slight limp, but no blood streaming down his leg. Dr. Tillman opened her mouth, and Harold put his hand on her arm.

“Doctor, perhaps food would be the best medicine right now.” He went to the sofa and claimed one end of it, trying to relax back, knowing that he was in no shape for another number. John hadn’t even looked at him, so he was stressed. “John, could you come sit with me? Please?”

John slunk over and slid up on the sofa, putting only the very tip of his nose on Harold’s leg and his big paws far away. Harold put his hand on John’s head. “Is your shoulder feeling better?”

Gently, John nuzzled at him, grumbling and growling. Harold leaned, even though it hurt, and pressed his forehead into John’s. “I’m sorry.” He had to say it. “I put you in a horrible position with no good choices. I know you did your best.”

Huffing out a big breath, John made a tiny mewling noise, more like a kitten. Harold found the strength to hug him. “Thank you.” He meant that. Even though he knew he’d die at some point, he was in no rush to get there. John sighed, blowing hard. One of his big paws came up and wrapped around Harold. He was such a gentle giant. Finally, Harold had to pull away. “My apologies, but my entire body wants me to stop.”

Chuffing, John licked him on the hand.

“Steak!”

There was a blur of fur, and John was gone. Harold chuckled and sipped his tea. They’d be fine, and in the future, Harold would be more vigilant in the field. John shouldn’t have to make such terrible decisions. Given the nature of their work, all Harold could do was try.

***

***


	5. Baths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold is a little put-out and plots his revenge.

***

“That’s is the second time you’ve left me to dry Bear alone,” Harold said, not caring that he sounded indignant. He was. “He shook all over my computers!”

“A tub on the floor isn’t the best way to wash a big dog like Bear.” John lazily flipped the page in his magazine. “Also, there was a number. Remember? The reason you hired me?”

“It was your idea to have a dog.” Harold loved said dog, but that wasn’t the point. “Fine, I’ll order what we need. You’ll install it.”

John didn’t look up, just continuing to swing his foot. He was such a cat sometimes. Harold snorted in amusement and had everything sent to their first safe house. That done, he went to get Bear a treat. John could get his own.

Two days later, Harold smirked at the sound of cursing drifting down the hallway. Unable to help himself, he limped to John’s room and peeked around the corner. Tools and parts scattered the floor, and John shot him a glare.

“You’re laughing.”

“Only on the inside where you can’t hear.” Harold wandered over. “The tub is nice and large.”

“Big enough for a lion.” John’s glare hadn’t dimmed. “I see your evil plan here.”

“Sometimes you smell.” Harold sniffed, knowing it would make John grumble, which he did right on schedule. “Did you see the fruity shampoo I bought?”

John’s head pulled back and his orange eyes narrowed. “No.”

Harold smiled. “You installed that hose backwards.” He thoroughly enjoyed John’s frustration. “I’d help, but there’s a number, and I’m due across town.”

“Wait a minute!” John took a long step towards him, wrench clattering to the floor.

“It’s a banking issue. My wheelhouse, not yours.” Harold smirked and left him grumbling. He was probably going to pay for that later with a bone in his chair, but it’d been worth it. As he expected, it didn’t take long to clear the number once he’d gained access to the bank’s servers. The information was sent to where it would do the most good, and the nephew would be behind bars shortly. Carter had given her word. If only all the numbers were that easy.

On the way back, Harold picked up many containers of Chinese food. Feeding the beast might keep John from biting the tub in frustration. Sure enough, John prowled around the corner about ten seconds after Harold put the food down on the table. Bear was sniffing the air as well, so Harold fed him some of his kibble.

“The number?”

“Wrapped up.” Harold almost smiled at John tearing open bags. “Carter promised a quick arrest. It never ceases to amaze me how trusting people are if you’re wearing a uniform of any sort and have a key card.”

“Humans are stupid,” John growled. He didn’t look as if he was inclined to share the food at all.

Harold laughed and put his things away before rescuing his soup from John’s voracious appetite. John grumbled, but Harold ignored it. “I like the soup at this place.”

“It’s all good.” John’s chopsticks moved at a high speed. “I’m Switching after I eat.”

“Perhaps we can tackle those snarls in your mane.” Harold didn’t look at him intentionally because he knew he was on the receiving end of a glare. He sipped his soup, just enjoying the moment. His neck and hip weren’t too painful today, Bear was happy, and John was close. Really, most days, all that was enough to make him smile.

“You seem pleased with yourself,” John said.

Now, Harold met those orange eyes. “I certainly am. Later, I’m going to my tailor. Would you like a new suit?”

John’s eyebrows went up. “I have too many already, but I could use a few more shirts.”

“I’ll measure to make sure your dimensions haven’t changed before I go.” Harold liked the idea of buying John shirts, something besides white this time, perhaps a chartreuse.

“Maybe I should cut back on the donuts,” John said, but his tone wasn’t serious at all. “Or at least no sprinkles.”

“Bear loves sprinkles.” Harold smiled at the memory. He rescued a crab Rangoon from John’s horde. By the time Harold finished, John was long gone, but he’d cleaned up his mess. Harold did the same and then trailed back to see the new tub. It was indeed quite large, but John’s room was huge, so it fit. Bear tromped up the dog stairs and peered inside it. Harold gave him a pat and he jumped inside. “My plan is working,” he said with a smile.

“Probably should’ve stuck around to dry him,” John said, coming up behind. “Sorry.”

“You had a number to rescue.” Harold turned to find a huge lion and gave him a pat on the head. “Your turn. Hop in!”

John tried to glare him down. Harold raised his eyebrows and waited. Bear hopped out and galloped away, but he’d be back. With a hearty grumble, John jumped up in it, and the metal legs held. Harold examined it carefully.

“Good sturdy work.” Harold reached to stroke John’s head. “I bet it’ll be nice in the summer when it’s hot.”

John sat down and flattened his ears.

Harold laughed. “You’re so dramatic. I’ll get my brush, clippers, and maybe a comb.” He didn’t imagine the long-suffering sigh.

**


	6. Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is in the Library. (set before Bear)

***

“I’m headed to work and then I’ll be at my house, meeting with my realtor if you need anything,” Harold said, gathering his things and wrapping a scarf around his neck. “John?”

John hadn’t really been listening, but he nodded. “Do you smell that?”

“No.” Harold put on his hat. “Goodbye.”

“See ya.” John tilted his head. He could hear… something. “Oh, good luck selling that awful place!”

Harold didn’t reply, but he did sigh, which made John grin. The number had wrapped up by noon, and John had been glad there hadn’t been another right away. He needed some fur time. Hanging up his clothes, he took a big stretch before Switching. He shook out his mane and froze, listening to the scratchy noises.

Something was in his Library.

And John was going to eat it.

***

Harold’s phone beeped in a pattern which meant that someone had tripped the laser alarm in the loading dock. “Excuse me, Miss Levenstein, but I need to take this.” He stepped far enough away for privacy and thumbed open his surveillance system.

John was on top of the Range Rover, tail high, eyes wide, and claws slashing at… something. Harold saw her edge closer, and he closed the window. His lion friend had clearly gone off the rails, but it would have to wait.

“Everything okay, Mr. Crane?”

“Fine. Let’s continue.” Harold wasn’t looking again, not until tomorrow.

***

Whiskers trembling, John raced around the corner, paws nearly sliding out from under him. His prey was canny, even sly, but this hunt was about over. Books rained down on his head, and he yowled as an especially thick one bonked him between the eyes.

He roared upwards, not willing to tear the book shelf to shreds because Harold would kill him. Maybe, it was time to get his gun. A goddamn walnut hit him in the eye, and he was so furious that he Switched.

“Where the hell did you get a walnut?” he roared.

The intruder stared at him, chittering, and then trundled away, across the tops of the book shelves, content in his mayhem.

“Oh, this isn’t over,” John growled. He Switched and bolted after him. This was his Library, and he was hungry.

***

Harold broke his vow not to check the surveillance video again when the beeping grew incessant, making it impossible to read the fine print on his seller’s contract. He snatched up his phone and opened it with a disgusted sniff.

John was standing, completely nude, on Harold’s desk with a gun in his hand. The look on his face was a mixture of fury and astonishment, and he appeared to have a black eye. Harold sighed deeply and turned it off. Then he spoke to his phone. “I’ll fix whatever he breaks. Calm down.”

The blue light blinked twice after a long pause, and Harold picked his contract up again. He’d needed a new monitor anyway.

***

The episode, which became known as the Great Raccoon Debacle, lived in infamy, and John often whispered about the exploits of a brave lion into the ears of Bear, who kindly whined in all the appropriate places.

***


	7. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stakeouts aren't for talking.

***

Stakeouts were miserable – that was the rule – but John particularly hated them when he was stuck in a car with someone who talked. Quiet should be standard operating procedure. He’d never thought of Carter as a blab, but he was re-thinking that after the last five hours.

“I’m just saying.” She shrugged. “If people got used to seeing Felines in public, maybe they wouldn’t be so scared.”

He highly doubted it. Predators were always scary, especially ones with large teeth. “He should’ve been here by now.”

“Be patient. He’ll show.”

John needed fur time, not desperately, but soon. It itched up and down his spine.

“Are you growling?” Her eyes were wide.

“No, just restless.” He stretched his legs again and wished he hadn’t eaten his food already. “I should’ve stolen a larger car.”

“I’ll pretend you’re joking.” Carter shot a quick look at him. He forced his shoulders down and breathed through his mouth, trying for a scent off her. She wore perfume and the salami was pungent, but he thought he got it. She looked at him again. This time a little longer before her eyes darted away. “You could go for a walk.”

“I’m not going to eat you.” He didn’t like knowing that she was nervous, and he was the cause of it. “I had three sandwiches.”

“I’m not scared,” she said a little too forcefully. She made a show of checking up and down the dark street. “You’re just a Feline.”

His ear comm clicked. “Please don’t eat her.”

“Funny, Harold.” John needed these damn contact lenses out of his eyes. He glanced in the rearview mirror. “There he is.” And John was out the door like an antelope. He needed to move, to hunt, and he was so glad when their prey ran.

“John!” Carter shouted after him, but he wasn’t slowing down. Two blocks later, he almost lost him in an alley but jumping on a dumpster gave him the scent again, and he scrambled up a fire escape. His prey was three floors up, moving fast. John let out a roar and grinned. He needed this chase.

At the top, he saw the jump and ran unhesitatingly to the edge, launching himself to the next building, and then the next. His quarry made the mistake of looking back, and John was on him, bearing him to the ground. It was hard not to yowl at the flailing of fists and yelling, but John satisfied himself with a strong, left cross.

“Detective Carter is waiting for you at the bottom of the fire escape,” Harold said in John’s ear. “Did you enjoy the chase?”

“I really did.” John hoisted him up in a fireman’s carry and navigated his way down the fire escape. “Another number tonight?”

“No, please get some rest.” And Harold clicked off.

John could hear the unis coming as he plunked their guy down on the bricks at Carter’s feet. He grinned at her. “I gotta run.”

“Stop talking, start moving.” She had her handcuffs out. “And John, I’m not scared of you.”

He snorted and left in a hurry, taking the stolen car to a chop shop and donating the money to the nearest homeless center. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but he didn’t want to clean it. He doubled back, waited until he was sure her son wasn’t home, and picked the lock to her house. First, he raided the fridge, and then he undressed in her bathroom, flicking out the contact lenses.

His fur felt good, and he shook all over before pacing out to sprawl on her sofa. The stress of the car and the chase still thrummed through his veins, but all he did was let his tail thump over and over again. Finally, he dozed, but his eyes popped open when he heard the car pull up. Presentation was important, so he stretched and rolled to his back, letting his paws flop.

“My god,” she whispered. He could smell her shock and fear. He rolled off the sofa and paced over to her, sitting in front of her and waiting. She finally unlocked her muscles. “I could’ve shot you!”

John hadn’t been worried at all. He grinned up at her, knowing how it looked.

“Okay, so you’re scary as hell. I see that now.” She turned and went to put away her purse and gun. He waited, and she came back to him. Slowly, she reached out and touched him on the forehead. “You knew my son wasn’t home.”

He nodded. She sighed. “I understand now, but it’s still wrong.” She meant the entire anti-Feline culture in America. “How are you so big?” she muttered.

John stood and circled her, really taking in her scent and liking it. She put her hand on his back, and he chuffed. She laughed. “Lucky Harold.”

He roared, because he could, but not too loud. Her eyes went wide and she finally smiled at him. 

“Hello, John.”

***


	8. Nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set before Bear - John needs a nap.

***

Napping was important. John was a big believer in finding a patch of sunshine and sprawling. Unfortunately, his job was non-stop chaos, and naps were few and far between. So, when a day came without a number, he was determined to indulge.

He shrugged off his jacket and considered the sunniest spot in the Library. Harold glanced over at him. “You’re not going out for the day? Play Go in the park?”

“Not today.” John put his jacket on his chair and started on his shirt buttons. “Are you going to a movie? Art show?”

“I thought it might be nice to do nothing.” Harold was tucking away photos and data sheets from their last number. “I think I’ll head over to a new house. It has a sunroom.”

John stopped. He turned. “I hadn’t realized you’d purchased new real estate.”

“I dabble.” Harold straightened his desk and glanced up at him. “Private garden off the sunroom, with a top-of-the-line grill.”

Sucking in a quick breath over his teeth, John re-buttoned his shirt. “If I’m not invited, my feelings are going to be hurt.”

“I’ll admit I had a certain Feline in mind when I purchased it.” Harold started filling his computer bag. “A friend of mine sent me the listing.”

Jacket back on, John shifted impatiently until they were moving. John did a thorough job of locking up, and he shepherded Harold down to where one of their cars were parked. “Do we need to stop for steaks?”

“The refrigerator is groaning under the weight.” Harold knew how to make a Feline happy. He gave good directions, and John got them there quickly. It was a nice neighborhood but not a wealthy one.

“Is Harold Crane coming down in the world?” John pulled into the parking spot, right outside a garage.

Harold dug in his bag and produced a garage door opener. “A John Rooney owns this property. He assured me that we could visit today.”

John rubbed his forehead and sighed. He really didn’t need a house, but there was no convincing Harold of that. He pulled forward as soon as the garage door was up. “I guess this place is nice for a single-digit millionaire.”

“Exactly. The back yard is tremendous, completely private.” Harold smiled, shutting the door and getting out. “Please don’t clutter the garage with weaponry.”

“Buy me a house and then get bossy about it,” John grumbled, but he was the first one into the house proper, and he appreciated the style immediately. “I guess I better keep the roars to a minimum.”

“I would suggest it.” Harold was making himself at home. “But your neighbors are a good distance away, so I’m sure some small ones would go unnoticed.”

It was suddenly impossible not to be in his fur. John yanked off his coat, accepted Harold’s admonitions to retire to a bedroom, and finished stripping in one he found on the first floor, probably the master, given the attached bath. After a good shake, he padded out to check on Harold’s location.

There was a teapot heating up, and a pile of steaks on the counter. Harold gave him an absentminded pat on the head. “Go find some sunshine. I’m quite happy playing chef today.”

John rubbed his cheek on Harold’s hip and couldn’t resist bouncing away. He’d explore and then do as Harold suggested and find some sunshine. It was a great day to be a Feline.

***

His Machine had assured him that there was no number, at least until tomorrow, and Harold was glad to spend a day watching John sleep in a puddle of sunshine. John also ran around the garden and halfway up a tree before devouring a platter of steaks and turning up his big nose at the fruit salad.

Harold enjoyed the salad and his tea, also having a few bites of the steak. John wandered off to do something behind some bushes, and Harold let the shade and the breeze lull him into a doze. When a big, soft head nudged into his lap, he didn’t open his eyes, he just started rubbing ears and stroking.

John groaned and made deep noises in his chest. Harold smiled and dug his fingers in a bit more. “You are shameless.”

The noises didn’t stop. Harold’s fingers would grow tired long before John was done. Suddenly thirsty, Harold decided on some tea and pulled John’s mane to help get his feet under him. John chuffed, but he stood rock solid. Harold pressed his lips firmly down to prevent a groan from slipping out, and only then did he realize what he’d done.

“I apologize, John. I didn’t mean to manhandle you.” Harold was appalled at his behavior. John was not a cane.

The big lion yawned before sniffing at Harold’s bad leg. Harold flushed, opening his mouth to find another way to apologize, but John slid his big head under Harold’s slack hand and nudged up. The intent was clear. John wanted to help. It was just like him to be that kind.

“It’s still not appropriate,” Harold said, limping to the kitchen to start his tea. He dug around in the freezer until he found the large bone he’d purchased for this occasion and John’s big head was right there with him. “Let me remove the paper!”

The familiar argument made him smile, and John licked Harold’s hand. “Oh, stop it.” Harold finally freed the bone, and John made a very happy noise as he carried it out to the garden. “If only everyone was so easy to please.”

***

John kept a close eye on Harold after helping him up. Harold had never done that before so the pain must’ve been bad. The bone was delicious, and chewing always helped him think. He wanted to do more to help, but that would require touching, something they didn’t really do.

Harold brought his tea out and found a comfortable spot nearby. He wasn’t talkative today, and that suited John fine. It wasn’t that they didn’t touch, because Harold was always willing to rub John’s ears, which felt amazing. When John was in his skin, they didn’t touch at all, not really, even on occasions when it might’ve been… appropriate. John had to not look at Harold, and if he’d been in his skin he’d have been red-faced.

Touching was one of those things that John shied away from, not liking how vulnerable it made him feel. If he let Harold in, like that, in his skin, it could be… bad. Kara had done what she wanted with John, whether in fur or skin, and John would never forget the lessons she’d taught him.

But Harold wasn’t… John had to take a deep breath.

“Are you choking?”

The bone dropped from John’s mouth. He shook his mane and went to get a drink from the big bowl of water he’d noticed Harold putting down earlier. Harold was always considerate like that. Abandoning the bone, John paced back to sit right in front of Harold, who had a book now to go along with his tea.

Their eyes met, and John didn’t look away. Understanding Humans was hard. Hell, John wasn’t sure he’d ever figured out anyone, Human or Feline. Even with his great sense of smell and hearing, none of it made sense. But Harold… was different.

“Would you like me to read to you?”

And that right there was a case in point. Men had cried, blubbered, when faced with John’s stare. John knew he looked fierce, dangerous. Harold wanted to read to him. Nodding, John lifted his paw and very carefully put it on Harold’s knee – the good one.

After a moment, Harold gave his paw a pat. “Today is very nice. Thank you for keeping me company.”

John gave up. He touched Harold’s hand with his nose and went back to his bone in the sun. He’d do more touching, whether skin or fur. He didn’t understand Harold at all, but he trusted him, and that was all that mattered.

“You’ll like this book.” Harold shifted and brought his book back up. “Mathematical science, which is the only real science that the entire civilized world…”

Much later, John woke up from his nap and took a very long stretch.

“Dinner is ready!”

Racing into the house, John grinned. What a great day.

***


	9. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold gets the news.

***

His program alerted him to the news, and the words coupled with a lovely picture made the Library seem very small. Without thinking, he was up and putting on his scarf and coat. Bear whined from his bed, and John got to his feet.

“Harold?”

“I have business,” Harold said, words feeling thick in his throat. He made sure of his phone and left without looking at either of them again. For once, he hoped John was able to rein in his innate nosiness. The wind slapped Harold in the face, and he lowered his head a little, finding a cab quickly.

“Just drive,” Harold said.

The cabbie laughed. “You got it.”

Harold arranged his leg so it would stop screaming at him and tried to find his wits. Nothing seemed to be in his mind except the fact that it was over. Of course, he’d known that, but he hadn’t, not really.

“You okay?”

Irritated at the sound of another voice, Harold snapped, “Here is fine.” He thrust a hundred at him and escaped back into the wind. The sun was down behind the skyscrapers, and it would be dark soon to match the cold.

His hands shook as he made his way through people rushing home to their loved ones. He concentrated on that and putting one foot in front of the other. Part of his mind compared his behavior to a laptop with a white screen – just not accepting data of any sort at the moment. The first drops of rain that hit his face almost made him laugh. Of course, it would rain on him.

A simple nudge from an uncaring shoulder was enough to send Harold careening off-balance and an ill-placed puddle did the rest, making sure Harold fell hard enough to send his glasses flying. For one split second, he felt suspended above the concrete, and he had plenty of time to think that this was exactly how he’d spent the last years. Suspended, waiting, hanging in mid-air, so to speak, not really participating in life, just watching it from afar.

The crash was a hard one. He wasn’t even sure how long he lay there, far too close to the curb, trying to find his wits. Pain ripped all over his body, making it hard to breathe and impossible to get to his feet.

Rain pummeled him, as if to prove the point that he was down, and he wasn’t getting up. Oh, Grace, she was gone, and he had to find the strength to keep living without even the bare crumbs he’d allowed himself. It was time to stop waiting. He was dead to her, and she was moving on with her life. That was how it should be, and he drew in an aching breath from the pain of it all.

“Harold!”

The rain cut off, but he couldn’t even roll over. He opened his mouth but nothing but a sob came out.

“Talk to me. Can I move you? Do you need an ambulance?” John’s voice cut through all the noise on the street and in Harold’s mind. “Harold!”

John was hovering, protective, with one gentle hand on Harold’s shoulder. Harold tried again, “I’m okay.” But he wasn’t sure any sound came out.

“Don’t move your neck until we’re sure,” John said. “Can you hear me? I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No!” Harold managed that word with some force. He forced his mind to think, and he decided, once and for all, that he wasn’t going to lie in the gutter and die. There was work to do, and a friend to do it with, and he would face this truth. Grace was getting married, and Harold would find a way to send an expensive gift, and then, and then, it was done. Over. “John, just give me a hand, please. We’ll go slow.”

“Of course, Harold.” John took Harold by the hand and helped him to his feet, still keeping the rain off with his umbrella. “I still think you need an ambulance.”

“Nothing is broken but my pride.” Harold had to take several deep breaths. “My glasses?”

“Shattered.” John rattled his pocket. “Sorry.”

“I have more.” Harold couldn’t control his shivers, and he might’ve fallen if John hadn’t been holding him upright. “You followed me.” It wasn’t a question. It was something John did, and Harold, for the life of him, couldn’t understand why.

“You were upset. Bear insisted.” John took a step, and Harold tried to go with him but his leg threatened to collapse. “How far to your nearest property?”

“Two blocks, this direction.” Harold thought so at least. He took the offered umbrella without asking why, and then John scooped him up. “Mr. Reese!”

“You’ll never make it, and I can hear your teeth chattering.” John wasn’t running, but he was moving fast, and Harold was irrationally jealous of those long legs. “You fell over like a tree. I thought you were dead.” His arms seemed to clutched Harold a bit closer.

“I slipped.” Harold couldn’t think of anything else to say. In that moment, he’d felt dead. But he wasn’t, and he was going to be fine. He had no other choices. “Thank you, John.”

John grunted, not talking again until Harold had gotten them inside the house. Harold hoped he’d be able to stride away once his feet were on the floor again, but it seemed his leg had gone as far as it could for one day.

“Pain pill, bath, and bed. Then tea. Don’t argue.” John rapped out the words. He strode away towards the back, no doubt to start the bath. Harold shuttered the umbrella and dropped it. He could do this. He would do this. And he took a small step. When he didn’t immediately fall down, he was emboldened to take another.

“Mr. Reese, I’ll be fine.” Harold wasn’t sure why he said those words, but it felt important.

“And maybe you’ll crack your head on the coffee table.” John caught him as his leg collapsed, and the coffee table was alarmingly close. “I’m sorry, Harold, but this suit is ruined.”

“It’s not one of my favorites.” Harold made the conscious decision to stop insisting he was fine. Clearly, he needed some assistance. “Thank you, John.”

“I’m just returning the favor,” John grumbled. He sounded irritated, but Harold knew it wasn’t at him. “I should track that guy down and punch him.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.” Harold began to shiver uncontrollably. John stripped him out of the wet suit, growling over Harold’s bloody knee, while the tub filled. As each layer of the suit peeled away, Harold felt more and more ridiculous. John was going to see him, naked, vulnerable, and covered with grotesque scars. Harold wanted, even needed, to shove him out the door. “John, please, leave me to this.”

“No,” John whispered. He kept his hands light, and his eyes averted as much as possible, and Harold’s heart ached to see him try so hard. John hated touch about as much as Harold hated being touched. “Let me help.”

Harold nodded, unable to speak. His teeth chattered, and he no longer knew if it was from cold or fear. They’d begun to share… casual touches when John was in his skin. At least, they no longer went out of their way to avoid each other, but that would end when John saw him - saw how ruined Harold’s body was now.

“It’s hard to stay in my skin with you hurt like this. I want to bite things.” John’s words were low, like he hoped Harold wouldn’t hear over his shivering. John took a deep breath when he peeled off Harold’s undershirt. Harold should’ve been able to do it, but his hands were shaking. He wished for his walk-in hot tub, because getting in and out of this tub would require John’s help. He gasped when John pushed Harold’s boxers down and put him in the tub in a blink, moving away quickly, as if that could help the situation.

Blood dribbled into the water from his knee, and Harold covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t drown. I’ll get you some tea.” John didn’t slam the door.

Harold took several deep breaths. The worst, he supposed, was over. John had seen him, and while he’d run away, at least he hadn’t offered sympathy, or worse yet, lied about how the scars weren’t bad. They were bad. Even doctors occasionally made shocked noises.

The heat of the water finally registered, and he covered as much skin as possible so he’d stop shivering. He was fine. He was. A pain pill, a good night’s rest, and he’d be at work tomorrow.

“Here.” John came inside and went to his knees by the tub. Harold stared down at the pill in John’s hand for one second. It was a strong one. He’d be out for hours. John gave him the tea to wash it down and said, “Your knee needs a couple of stitches. It popped open when you fell.”

“It’s hardly bleeding,” Harold protested, but he didn’t look at it.

“Only because you’re near hypothermia.” John didn’t touch him. “Where’s the first aid kit?” He didn’t wait for an answer, going to rummage in the cabinets. Harold tried to think, but he’d only been to this house once before, and he wasn’t sure of anything with his teeth banging together. John growled something and was back, pressing a bandage into Harold’s knee.

“It’s bad that I can’t really feel it,” Harold said, starting to feel a bit disconnected. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast so the pain pill was going to hit him hard. “John, I’m sorry.” It had to be said again. “You shouldn’t have to do these sorts of things.”

“I suppose I could’ve left you on the street,” John said with a real growl in his voice. “Drink the rest of the tea.”

Harold concentrated on that, feeling the shivers start to leave his body and his teeth weren’t clacking on the tea cup any longer. The pain in his neck dimmed, and he knew what that meant. “John, I apologize.”

“What for now?”

His vision began to narrow, and Harold dropped into the black.

Waking up hurt, but that was nothing new. The level of pain was alarming, but it’d fade if he could find the strength to get out of bed.

His brain stuttered to halt. He’d been in the tub, and now, he was in bed. His neck refused to let him even consider twisting, so he pushed with his remarkably sore arms. A huge lion was asleep next to him on the king-sized bed, above the covers. Harold let his body drop back down. At least he had boxers on, but how they’d gotten there was a cause for concern.

John had seen him, all of him. Hopefully, they’d never discuss it. Never. Harold measured his breaths, counting, and forcing his body to calm. His mind ran a dozen different directions, but he could school his muscles. It helped with the pain.

Grumbling from a lion forced Harold to smile. John would wake up soon. Harold wished he were brave enough to scoot over to him, maybe stroke his tangled mane, but that was a fantasy that would never come true. John had very reluctantly agreed to let Harold cut his hair. Touch wasn’t something John enjoyed, and Harold wished he didn’t feel the lack of it. His relationship with Grace hadn’t been overtly sexual, but it’d been sensual, full of sweet touches.

She was gone now. Harold hitched a breath and tried to find the strength to be happy for her. Grace was going to have a wonderful life, and that’s all he’d ever wanted for her. He latched on to that truth. It’d see him through. His phone chirped, and he sighed, not wanting to move.

John sat up and yawned. He glanced at the phone and flopped back down, making the bed shake. Harold had seen him do it before and it never ceased to make him smile. Another chirp, and it was time to get moving, or at least to try, before John woke up and saw him mostly naked, again. Groaning didn’t make it easier, but without it, Harold never would’ve been able to put his feet on the floor.

A hand appeared not far from his nose, since his head was dropped, and he’d been trying to muster the strength to stand while analyzing the stitches in his knee. Harold wanted to dive under the covers, but he looked up at John, seeing the worry clearly on his face. He had a pill and a glass of water in his hands.

“I never take one before noon.” Harold also still felt muddled from the last one. “But, thank you.”

“Let me help, Harold.” John’s voice broke halfway through the sentence.

Narrowing his eyes, Harold tried to understand. “How can you even bear to?”

John went to one knee, and it was strange that only then did Harold realize the lack of clothes between them was extreme. Harold hoped his cheeks weren’t red. He felt a little light-headed. Perhaps John was concerned as well, because he swallowed hard. “We’re…” He ducked his heads. “Friends.” And now John’s cheeks were red. His orange eyes practically glowed. “Right?”

Harold managed a breath. His entire world had been dashed to pieces, but now, it was spinning again, somewhat mended. He slowly nodded, feeling something beyond the impending doom of Damocles’ sword for the first time in years. “We are. After all, I cut your hair.”

His eyes crinkled. “You do. Let me help?”

“I suppose you must.” Harold tried very hard and found a twitch of a smile. “We’ll have a number soon.”

******


	10. A Full Measure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an old argument.

***

“No.”

John narrowed his eyes and put on a face that had made grown men wet their pants.

Harold raised his eyebrows. “You think you can intimidate me? I’ve faced titans of business, government agents, and assassins. You, sir, are nothing but my friend.”

After a moment, John quit, lowering his shoulders and sighing. “I wouldn’t call it nothing.”

“Neither would I.” Harold limped to his chair and sat down with a thump. “It’s a line I won’t cross. I’ve committed numerous felonies, misdemeanors, and been labeled a terrorist, but I won’t pick up a gun. If I do, I lose that last bit of decency that I have stored away for a rainy day.”

Sitting down, John scrubbed a hand through his long hair. He’d have Harold cut it before he went back out on the street. “Harold, you’re a good man, and I’d rather have a decent man with a gun than a criminal.”

“No.” Harold could’ve out-stubborned mules. “Someday, in a panic, I’ll most likely grab a gun and shoot someone. I can only pray at the end of it, I’m dead.”

It didn’t make any sense to John, not at all. “With some training, you could pick it up and get out of a situation alive.” But he saw Harold’s jaw twitch. “Harold, there aren’t any lines I won’t cross to save you.”

Another man would’ve heard those words as a condemnation that Harold wouldn’t do the same, but John wasn’t worried. This was Harold, and he would hear it as the warning that it was.

“And perhaps that will be a burden I must bear.” Harold looked away; his eyes focused on nothing. “I would much prefer that if there is any dying to do, you let me take the lead.”

Now John looked away, even rising to his feet to pace a distance away. It was better to not answer those words at all. He let himself pace, and he considered Switching so he could roar out his frustration. “These are times that try men’s souls.”

“We are not sunshine patriots,” Harold’s voice was soft. “And you must allow me to give the last full measure.”

Turning now, John raised his head, flinging his hair back. “No.” He emphasized the word with a growl, but he could see they were at an impasse.

“You boys okay? Through with the making out?” Shaw’s voice splashed over them both like a bucket of cold water. Harold actually flinched. John left them there, not caring that he should’ve stayed. He made his way out to one of blind spots on the shadow map and stood there gasping for air. No. And there’d be no arguing about it. Harold would live. If there was any dying to do – and there would be – it was John’s job to do it.

The Machine would help him. They’d always seen eye-to-eye on this issue.

Shaw leaned onto the brick wall next to him. “Still no luck, huh?”

“He’s made up his damn mind.” And John would respect it. “So, we work around it.” He saw Shaw start to say something, and he shook his head. “We’re professionals. Let’s act like it.”

“I get it. Dying is our job, not his.” Shaw nodded. “I’m good with that.”

John was glad to hear it. He took a deep breath and checked that he had his wallet, keys, gun, and phone. Shaw tugged his wild hair, and he pushed at her before they started down the alley together.

“Fucking bad guys,” Shaw said.

“Won’t know what hit them.”

****


	11. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the scene in 'Skin and Bones' where John and Harold are in the infirmary on the Prometheus and want to move to Montana.

***

“I’d rather go look,” John grumbled.

Harold almost rolled his eyes. “You’re not ready, and I can’t walk for any distance, not yet.”

“What if we hate it?” John seemed very concerned. “You know, like I hated that house in Queens.”

“I’ll buy another one, and we’ll sell it.” Harold kept his tone mild because John’s ears were far too keen. “Like I did the house in Queens.” He furrowed his brow. “Wait, that house burned down.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” John said quickly.

“I was certain of that,” Harold said, but he was no longer so certain. He changed the subject. “I like this one. It has a deck off the master suite.”

John flicked through the photos again. “I like the barn.” He handed the tablet back. Their beds were pushed close enough to make the exchange painless. 

“That’s settled then.” Harold put the wheels in motion. They’d been allowed to look at real estate, but the request to purchase would have to go through protocols here on the spaceship. It was annoying. “It has to be better than this spaceship.”

“Won’t have the view.” John began the process of getting up and into his chair. It involved a bed trapeze and grunting. Harold wished John would just stay in bed, but he understood. John didn’t fall to the floor, but he always took a deep breath when he settled. He looked up and nudged his wheel chair back. “I’m going to roll around. Want to come?”

Harold tucked the tablet safely away and used his walker to get to his feet. He was better, but he wasn’t mobile by any stretch of the imagination. “I’m still not certain of the ethics behind operating on my hip while they were stitching the wound from a bullet.”

“Dr. Beckett swears they thought you’d injured it at the same time you were shot.” John was clearly being patient with him, which was vexing. “Rodney did offer to shove you down.”

“He has a PHD in annoying people.” Harold measured his steps, not concerned about John’s apparent trajectory. John hadn’t run him over yet. “I hate physical therapy.”

“No one likes it.” John stopped in front of the big window that looked out on Earth. He locked his wheels, and Harold eased to a stop, thinking again how grateful he was that John was alive. John glanced up at him. “Stop it.”

“My apologies. I’ll try to rein in my gratitude.” Harold focused on their planet. Neither of them said anything for the longest time, just watching. Finally, Harold eased his hand onto John’s shoulder. “We’ll get down there soon.”

John rumbled in his chest and nodded. “Fusco and Shaw must think we’re dead.” He frowned. “And I want our dog back.”

This was the first time John had brought up Bear, and Harold had been reluctant to do so himself. He knew Bear would thrive with Shaw, and if the intention was for them to stay dead, retrieving him would be impossible. There were decisions to be made, and he wasn’t sure they should make them before they were both off pain medication.

To make good decisions, he needed information and Harold had been denied a phone. His tablet was intranet. For all he knew, his Machine was gone, as well as Samaritan. Very soon, Harold was going to need answers.

“That’s a situation we’ll have to decide how to address when we get planetside.”

“Look at you, going all spaceman on me. Pretty soon, you’ll be fixing the warp drive.” John flashed him a fast grin.

Before Harold could find a suitable retort, a nurse started fussing at them to go back to their beds before one of them collapsed from fatigue. Harold saw John bite back a growl and fist a hand. The Feline was beyond cranky. Something would have to be done because the doctor didn’t want John to Switch for another two days.

When they were both back in bed, John sighed in clear frustration, and Harold tried to think of a way to help. “John, could you pull our beds a bit closer together?”

“The wheels are locked,” he growled, but he was reaching. His eyes narrowed, and he huffed, but he managed to get them touching. Harold dropped the side bar, and John did the same with a quizzical look on his face, and now John was shooting small glances at him. Small anxiety that would ramp up into panic if Harold made the wrong move. Harold had made that mistake before, and he didn’t intend to do it again.

“I thought, maybe, if you wanted, I could stroke your hair?” Harold couldn’t look at him. Lion John loved it, but John still struggled with physical contact.

John ducked his head, took a deep breath, and nodded with a jerk. “I’d like that.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he blushed. Harold wasn’t sure how exactly to move to make it happen so neither of them popped a stitch, but luckily John was tall. There was a gasp or two between them, but they managed to get settled without either of them passing out. John actually let out a soft groan when Harold stroked his hand through John’s scruffy hair.

It’d been short when he’d been shot, and he hadn’t Switched, but it was still a wreck. “I see now why you always use product. Your hair has a mind of its own.” And he watched as John’s eyes fluttered shut.

“My mom always swore my hair was nothing but cowlicks.” John seemed to relax a little. “Am I hurting you?”

“Not anymore pain than is already there.” Harold tugged John’s ear. “You?”

“My leg always hurts.” John almost whispered the words, as if he were ashamed. “But the rest of me is much better.”

“Something positive.” Harold knew the prognosis on John’s leg, but he also knew that John was one of the most stubborn men alive, so the end result was anyone’s guess. John’s breathing began to deepen, and Harold tucked away all the questions he had for another day. They were both healing, and it wasn’t time to act on his impatience.

John mumbled something, not awake any longer, and Harold whispered, ““It seems a miracle we’re both alive.” Harold let the words settle the truth inside him. “I was wrong about us dying, and I’m so very glad about it.”

The only reply John made was a soft snore, and Harold relaxed into the movement, letting his fingers soothe them both. One decision had been made today – they’d have a home in Montana – and the rest would have to wait.

***

Making the Switch was something John hadn’t ever considered difficult, but with an audience of doctors, waiting to see if he bled out, he couldn’t quite make it happen.

“John?” Harold was close by, of course, but his gaze was staying north of John’s Mason-Dixon line.

“Could everyone just… get out?” John was relieved to see Dr. Beckett nod and start shooing people away, but before the door could shut, a big cougar nosed his way inside. It was Colonel Sheppard, and John Switched instantly, needed his fur desperately. He’d have fallen, but the cougar pressed into him, and John panted, hurting so much.

“Help him,” Harold whispered, sounding wrecked.

John swung his head to him and toppled over, not understanding. Harold lunged towards him, and Beckett caught him before he slammed into the floor. Sheppard licked him on the forehead several times, and John yowled but he didn’t try to get up, not yet.

“John!”

“Give him a minute! You tearing out your stitches doesn’t do you any good!” Beckett wasn’t turning Harold loose, keeping him in his wheelchair.

With a surge, John was on his paws, and the pain of his back leg made him tucked that paw up. He roared and fought his way to Harold’s lap. It was only two feet and it seemed like a mile. If Sheppard hadn’t given him a shoulder, he never would’ve made it. Harold made a soft sound, clasping John’s big head.

“My John,” he whispered.

And John mewled like a kitten, needing him so much. Beckett muttered, “Couple of fools.”

Sheppard chirped and stayed right by him. John could smell Harold’s blood and pain, and he backed away after a bare minute of respite. Harold let him go. “You can do it.”

John wobbled a little and then found his paws, strength starting to flow. He couldn’t put any weight on his back leg, but he caught the knack of three legs. Sheppard gave him a lick on the shoulder and stayed close, and John chuffed out a big breath. He could do this. Shaking out his mane, he grumbled and growled.

The cougar whistled, and John snapped his teeth at him.

“He certainly sounds fine,” Beckett said.

“He’s clearly in pain,” Harold said, and John heard the anger in his voice. John staggered a bit, but he went back to him. Harold pushed Beckett’s hand aside and got to his feet to stand beside him. “We can do this.”

Now John roared, knowing that they could. They could heal, move on, find a purpose together. He wanted that so much, and there were problems to solve, but they could do it. Harold put his hand on John’s forehead, and John nosed up into it.

“He’ll need to stay in his fur for several days,” Dr. Beckett said.

Harold nodded. “Go eat with Colonel Sheppard. I’ll track down Dr. McKay and see about getting a few things organized.”

John nodded. It was time for answers. They were strong enough, and they’d go into the future together.

***


End file.
